Falling from Grace
by Eastern Wavelength
Summary: Musings of a boy unlucky enough to get roped into the SWA. OC


Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all, I'm just borrowing the idea.

* * *

All he wanted was to be able to feel like his life was his own.

He tries to find time to read simple picture books outside of suicidal missions and harsh studies whenever he can. Those times when all is calm and tranquil like by a lake side surrounded by lush greenery.

Those times where there are no missions, no killing, no gun fire, none of that red, red lifeblood that spills out of whatever human mark he has been commanded to shoot.

Just him, the wonderful places his imagination can take him, the merrily chirping little birds outside his open bedroom window, and the warm sunlight and occasional breeze streaming in through said open window.

He is thankful that his handler does not pump him full of that suspicious will-breaking medicine like the stern man, Jean, does to poor Rico. It instills in him a small shred of hope.

Hope that he would never become _just_ a gun toting puppet. Hope that at least, amidst all the artificial skin, latex-like muscles, metal grafted bones and replaced organs, he is still human.

* * *

He often spends his time staring blankly, aimlessly, at a ceiling or wall. Perhaps, even the sky when he finds the time to. It blanks his mind easily and it lets his imagination carry him away.

Away from this sick, sick world. Away from the ridiculous power struggle between the government and the rebelling factions, away from all the fighting and smell of gun oil and powder and smoking ruins of the aftermath of a conducted raid.

It lets him become whoever and whatever he wants to be, could have become.

An astronaut, a soccer player, a pianist. Anything. Anything but a child mercenary trapped in an adults' world. Anything but a disposable, gun toting puppet for the government he so despises.

But as much as he hates what the government makes him do, he is still thankful for the limbs he has been provided. Those limbs they installed to make him slaughter and commit such heinous acts so utterly inhumane, it is a wonder how they got their seats in the parliament. At the very least, those limbs allow him to run along beaches and streets, to feel the wind in his face and hair.

Those limbs, however fake, however heavy and metal-like and initially, so completely foreign to his adolescent body, make him feel a little human.

* * *

He wishes, he prays even, to the hateful God that allowed his devout, loving parents to die, that everything was just a bad dream. And that he'd wake up, scared, and go to his parents for the warmth he so missed.

He wishes, he prays with all his heart. But he knows, that no one will save him from this nightmare.

It is darkness.

His darkness.

Darkness created for him alone.

And he can only blame the God that did not save him from it.

* * *

A sharp rap on the door shakes him from his reverie.

"Nero. We have a mission. Briefing room in 2." A masculine voice, his handler's voice, the voice that commands his will and makes him kill, sounds from behind the heavy wood.

He shuts the open book on his lap and sits up.

"Yes sir." He replies, his own voice sounding so horribly dead and unlike him to his ears.

* * *

He can dream. He can dream of never becoming a child weapon, a mass murderer for the convenience of the government. He can dream of being a normal boy with a normal family spending those normal carefree days he used to take for granted in a lighthearted manner, but he can never escape the cruel reality of the tall men in black suits shoving a heavy weapon into his little hands and telling, pushing him to kill.

And even God himself is powerless to save him from this dreadful nightmare.

Because, for a long time now, he had fallen out of favour from God.

* * *

After note: Uh, hey there. I haven't been writing since forever, but I just wanted to throw this out there and see how it fares. Unfortunately, not much of a story there, just musings of a boy unlucky enough to get roped into the SWA. I don't really plan to continue this, so I hope that anyone who has read this enjoyed it.

Thanks for taking the time to read.


End file.
